The Sergeant's Wedding
by Gabriel-San
Summary: 101 Dalmatians the Series Sergeant Tibbs, he of the fair face and figure, is getting married at long last. But not to whom he wishes, or for the reason he desires. Things are not going well at all.


**The Sergeant's Wedding**

**By: Gabriel LaVedier**

**Notice: Characters contained herein are Copyright the Walt Disney Company, save for Gabriel, Ertha Kitt, TicTac, Diva, and Spooky. TicTac, Diva and Spooky property of their creator, Gabriel and Ertha belong to me.**

"See the Chaplain thinkin'?

See the women smile?

See the marrieds winkin'

As they take the aisle?

Keep your side-arms quiet,

Dressin' by the band.

Hey! You holy beggars,

Laugh behind your hands!

And it's cheer for the Sergeant's weddin'!

Give 'em, one cheer more!

Gray gun-horses in the lando

And the bastard is married to a whore!"

-"The Sergeant's Wedding", By Rudyard Kipling, modified by Leslie Fish

"Now… Where were we, Sergeant Tibbs?" In the Colonel's old railcar, the aged campaigner sheepdog was sprawled out on his side, conducting his business from his most comfortable position. He was a truly monumental dog, formerly made of piss, vinegar and old leather, his muscles the size of trees and his teeth like razors. But now, the old soldier was more fat than anything else, his body a still strong, but not as much as in time before. His fur was still well-groomed; he made certain that he was impeccable, even if it fell over his eyes most of the time.

"The budget, sir." Before him, writing on a clipboard with a claw and bottle of ink was the Colonel's faithful secretary, companion, confidante, and lover, Sergeant Tibbs. A red-toned cat of a thin, reedy cast. He looked likely to blow away in a stiff breeze or crack under a hard glare. He looked the part of a mincing poof. But he was a good soldier. Dedicated, honest, loyal, and utterly in love with the Colonel. There was no disguising the look in his eyes when gazing on the older canine.

"Mm, right. Yes. You were saying that there was something amiss?"

"Yes, sir. It appears that Mayor Ed has cut our budget. Again. He says that we don't need as many resources. I tried to explain that since we contract out almost everything but our soldiers that we need the budget. Gabriel is kind to us, gives us deals, lets us use the club as a canteen, but there are limits. He runs a business."

"And what was the Mayor's response, Sergeant?"

"To be brief, sir, he expelled a lot of hot air about understanding, then told me to deal with it."

"Unfairness, Sergeant. Rank unfairness. Imagine, the politicians cutting corners on security. Disgraceful. Utterly disgraceful. Well, not much to be done. Stretch it out where you can and have the troops scavenge if need be. By Jove, we're not beaten. That Ed Pig won't get the better of us." The sheepdog snorted and shook his shaggy head. "What's next, Sergeant?"

Tibbs checked off some items on his clipboard and smiled. "It's time for our… Private time, sir. A massage, a trim, and anything else you want to do."

Like a miracle, the years seemed to melt away from the Colonel. He rose to his paws, chest out, head high, one eye visible through a gap in the fur. "Private time, you say? Splendid, splendid. Get out the lavender today. And don't spare the pressure on my lower back. It doesn't want to work as well as it used to."

"Colonel!" The scream was unmistakable, as was the presence that followed it, barging boldly and uncaringly into the private car. The Napoleonic, histrionic, narcoleptic and ailurophobic Lieutenant Pug. Fifty pounds of sarcasm, intolerance, hatred, anger and bullshit stuffed obscenely into a five pound bag. The self-important Lieutenant roughly shoved Tibbs aside as he stalked towards the Colonel, just a hairsbreadth away from the force that would have him chewed out for a year and a day. He knew the limits well, knew just how and when he could verbally, emotionally and physically abuse the feline Sergeant, to once more demonstrate his pathological hatred of cats. "Colonel, I have some serious issues…"

"I'll say you do…" Tibbs muttered, slinking towards the Colonel's furry bulk.

"What did you just say, caaAAAat? Was that insubordinatin' talk there? You know what happens when an enlisted man back talks a superior officer."

"I am quite certain that the Sergeant did not back talk you, Lieutenant. Personally, I heard nothing. Now please, Pug, get on with what it is that you wish to report. I am in the middle of serious command-level decisions. I am a very busy canine."

Pug saluted crisply, perfectly at attention, showing off every miniscule inch of his size. "Yes, sir! I wish to once more, officially, note my displeasure about the location and maintenance of the company canteen. It should be made by soldiers, for soldiers. We've got our troops mixing with civilians, in a civilian establishment."

"I understand your concerns, Lieutenant. But it's out of my paws. We're strangled by our budget constraints. Besides, it is a perfectly serviceable establishment. We get a good rate, know the service is prompt and friendly, and can count on the owner. He is, after all, our biggest civilian contractor."

"And that's another thing. We put out our contracts for competitive bids but you always choose Gabriel. Even when he's more expensive. Swamp Rat would have done it for half before he got blown up."

"He was also a scoundrel and a thief, proposing the use of cut-rate materials and utilizing questionable business practices." Tibbs cut in quickly, glaring daggers at Pug from behind the safety of one of the Colonel's rear legs.

"The Sergeant is correct, Lieutenant. I go with quality every time. Everything we've had constructed by Gabriel's team has been solid and reliable. On time and under budget. I fail to see the source of your concern."

"My concern, Sir, is that fiancée of his. Ertha. She's a cat!" Pug regretted forgetting to whom he was speaking, the angry glare of the Colonel burning into his tiny body. The Colonel was a dog of the Old School. Not that he was a backward-thinking bigot, but rather that he was a man of great respect for others, no matter their particular species, culture or any other indicator. He had written toleration into the guidelines of the Bark Brigade and kept that ideal strong even as Pug proposed rules to limit things such as homosexual fraternization or inter-species contact. "What I mean is, Sir, she's a cat from outside. She's not from the farm area. She's not even from around here. She's Cornish. Can we really trust her? Can we afford to let someone like that have the ear of someone that involved with the Brigade but outside the chain of command?"

The Colonel still glared at Pug, hot hatred in his eyes. He knew that Pug was a bigot, but absent truly egregious violations, and in light of his numerous superficial acts of contrition and promises of reform, he had to keep the little monster around, for the stability of the unit. "I see. You raise a fair point, Lieutenant. I shall take the matter under advisement. Dismissed."

"Yes, Sir." Pug had lots more to say, many more concerns to raise, mostly of cadets frolicking with one another. Tripod and Lucky, Rolly and Spot, Cadpig and the civilian TwoTone. He knew they were involved, but couldn't quite prove it conclusively. Yet. However, his faux pas had been too great, so he saved face through a tactical retreat.

"A monster in the body of a mite." Tibbs said, with dripping contempt.

"That he is, Sergeant, that he surely is. But he's also hard as nails, and keeps the troops in line. His monstrous nature is what keeps the troops on track. I wish it was not so, but my paws are tied. I think that if we ever lost him for any reason short of his natural death the whole Brigade would fall apart, simply rupture and fall to pieces."

"But Sir, he's a hateful little troll, who openly discriminates against cats."

"Not that openly, Sergeant. Granted, he's right on the line. But the line is still there. So long as he remains on the proper side of it, he is inviolable. Now, forget about the Lieutenant. You said you were going to massage me and tend to other needs as well."

Tibbs brightened, his eyes shining, whiskers quivering in anticipation of the chance to work his paws against the Colonel, and to get a good, filling meal. "Yes, Sir!"

- - -

"Two medium steak halves, three Strawberry Starshine smoothies and one plate of fried onions." Business was brisk at The Lounge, the food, smoothie and relaxation portion of The Game Lounge. Formerly a large, abandoned structure, more than a tool shed, less than a guest cottage, it resembled nothing so much as a bungalow that knew somebody. It had been claimed by Gabriel, one of the kidnapped Dalmatians, and converted by the sweat of his brow, into an entertainment center and eatery. A good business that ran on the strength of quality and compassion. Delivering the orders that day was Diva, a plump pup like TwoTone, save her back half was only modestly dipped in black, and a star-shaped white patch rested on one of her butt cheeks.

Behind the counter of the bar and serving area was Ertha. Ertha Kitt, named by people with no imaginations, who lived on her own, and wandered, quite by chance into a paradise in the heart of Gabriel. From homeless, pudgy scrapper, she became a pampered businessman's wife, who remained true to her roots and worked twice as hard as any employee. She was rounded all over, a healthy, fertile figure of a feline, all wrapped almost sensually in pure black fur, with green eyes flashing happiness set in her face. "Rightyo. Steaks, onions, Strawberry Starshines."

In the midst of the pleasant chaos, stood Gabriel himself, glad-handing and being the gregarious club owner that everyone expected him to be. It helped that such a thing was his true nature. He was a thin pup, very much a thinking man in construction. On his head was a large disk of black, his yarmulke spot covered in a real yarmulke, while down the sides of his face were spiraled patterns of sports looking like side locks, and over his shoulders and neck, down either side of his chest, a collection of splotches and spots resembling a tallit. "I just love canteen day. Brigadiers tip. And they always budget fairly."

Milling about the Lounge that day, occupying the refurbished recovered tables, chairs and barstools were the members of the Bark Brigade, the farm's de facto military and constabulary, though they seldom were called on for either role. Mostly they drilled and pitted their skills against one another, earning merit points and gaining prestige within their own band.

Off in a corner booth, snuggled close and comfortable were Rolly and Spot, the bowling ball and the stick, sharing a plate of fish and chips while whispering sweet nothings. Front and center , at a small, low table were Tripod and Lucky. They were working the testosterone out of their systems by foreleg wrestling. Tripod was clearly superior, even though he allowed Lucky to win every so often. But the slam he created when he wanted to win was unmistakable. Though his lover knew he was being allowed to save face, he appreciated it, Lucky giving Tripod a covert kiss on the cheek. Not ashamed, but properly discreet. At the bar, leaned in good and close, were Cadpig and TwoTone. Cadpig had her considerable watermelon noggin resting against TwoTone's ample side, while she sipped a smoothie and listened to TwoTone talk about what she had done that day. It wasn't a riveting thrill-a-minute, but Cadpig listened in rapt concentration. That was love.

It was a setting of utter peace and civility among the chaos of living. One which was shattered by the grating call of, "Attention!" All the trained soldiers snapped to position, unable to refuse the order. Pug strolled in a moment after bellowing, all sour disposition and angry glare. He had been humiliated by the Colonel, in front of his nemesis. So he'd take it out on the one group who couldn't fight back: His troops. "Fall in, you namby-pambys. It's time for extra drills. Canteen is cancelled!"

"B-but… Lieutenant! We had this whole day off!" Lucky spoke with as strong a voice as he could muster, avoiding eye contact with Pug.

"What was that, Clucky? I didn't hear you! It sounded like you were questioning my orders." Pug quick-marched to the cowering cadet, his diminutive stature making the threatening approach seem almost comical. But no one dared laugh.

"Sir, he was only commenting, sir! Sir, we are granted one canteen day a week, and have such stipulated in the Bark Brigade Code, sir!" Tripod, cooler-headed than Lucky, and higher ranked by one level, knew how to play the rule game on the anal-retentive lieutenant.

"Don't get smart with me, Corporal! I know the code, inside out and upside down. I have discretionary power to declare extra drills if I feel performance is down. And I feel it! Only the Colonel can countermand my orders. So move it!"

The civilians in the club waved to the cadets who shuffled out, a few blowing covert kisses to the ones they had been with in the moments before the order. As Pug was marching out behind the depressed column, Gabriel called out, "Pug! A moment, if you please."

"I ain't got time to deal with civilians…" The small dog began.

"Well, if that is the case, then I could take this up with Captain. Or the Colonel himself…" Gabriel looked at Pug, his gaze speaking of his seriousness.

"Start talking. And make it fast. I've got a load of cadets who need to be whipped into shape."

"You mean, of course, that you've realized what an impotent little tyrant you are again, and need to sublimate your shame and humiliation though the physical and emotional abuse of those who find themselves forced to obey your warped wishes." Gabriel very casually let the insults roll from his tongue as he wiped down one of the vacated tables. Those who remained in the eatery gasped at the boldness of the pup. No one spoke to Pug like that.

"Now you listen here you uppity civilian contractor. No one talks to me like that." Pug stomped toward the other dog threateningly, teeth bared, eyes set in a deadly squint.

"Security." The call was calm, bland, even bored. Gabriel didn't even stop cleaning. In but a moment Ertha was at his side with a pipe wrench in her paw, her arrival having been so swift that the pudge he loved was still gently swaying around her midsection.

"Needing a little help, my dearest?" Ertha hissed her words through clenched, needle-sharp teeth. She was, at the end of the day, the daughter of dockside cats, of a line of dockside cats. She was fat and spoilt, but she had earned her fatness through work, catching scavengers and protecting the catch, being rewarded with fish and cheese scraps. And though she willingly showed herself as the wife-to-be of a businessman, she was more than a match for any would-be thug.

"It would appear the lieutenant wishes to be difficult, perhaps even violent. And that's not allowed at all. Please show him the door. And if he makes trouble, beat him."

"I'm goin'! But listen to me! You stay out of my business." He slowly backed out of the room, hate burning in his eyes, his breath panting through his teeth. "You AND yer dirty, stinking cat. Yea, cat. Stay away from me, or you'll get it." Ertha shook the wrench just once, and sent Pug running from room.

"A mental pygmy. Mostly harmless but far too hard on those poor cadets. I can only imagine what horrors he plans to unleash next." Gabriel sighed lightly, shaking his head and turning to his employees. "Well, back to work. No rest for the toiling."

- - -

"There's gotta be something… Something…" Later that day, after a brutal training session that left the cadets sore and exhausted, Pug was holed up in his cramped, untidy bunker, flipping through the Bark Brigade protocols. He had read each line a thousand times, and knew each one. But he had to look them over again, and again. To find some way of getting at that smug, superior Tibbs.

Every line, every word was useless. Nothing suggested any kind of revenge potential. The Colonel was no fool when it came to making rules. He had coded inclusion and goodness into every passage of their rules. Pug was going to give up, when the thought suddenly struck him. Goodness. There was a lot of claptrap about goodness in the rules.

He read over all the duties and responsibilities that rank implied. They were to be a model of conduct for all the cadets. Shining examples of so on and so forth. It was crazy, but it just might work. The absolute and perfect abuse of the best of intentions and most noble of rules.

"Colonel!" Pug burst into the Colonel's railcar again, carrying a copy of the Brigade rules and regulations in one undersized grip. He surveyed the scene before him, a frozen example of what happened behind closed doors. Tibbs, standing on the Colonel's back, in mid-knead, and the Colonel stretched out as much as possible, with a bowl of water near his mouth for leisurely licking.

"Lieutenant! What is the meaning of this intrusion? This outburst is wholly and totally uncalled for! You have ten seconds to explain yourself. And it had better be good." The Colonel rose to his full, imposing height, Tibbs leaping nimbly from his back to land near Pug.

"Oh Colonel, this is important. Very important. I've been reading and reviewing the Brigade rules and regulations. For my own amusement. And I came across some very interesting passages. But I have to ask you some questions, just to make certain I understand the relevant passages."

"Of course, Lieutenant, of course. If it is a matter of Protocol I am always at your disposal."

"Thank you, Sir. Now, as I understand it, the core of the Brigade, the central nucleus as it were, is meant to appear as shining examples of the kind of values we wish to uphold, yes?"

"Naturally. We are called to be leaders in word and deed, champions of…"

"Right, yes, thank you. Now, it also says that officers have a certain amount of leeway in their actions, in regards to personal life choices. They can choose, for example, to marry or remain single, as it fits their life and style of action. Correct?"

"True, very true. We must recognize that once one has become a commissioned officer that they may have a very different life than while a non-commissioned officer. More stress, duties, it would greatly split their focus."

"But, this does not explicitly apply to those lower in rank. That even the senior NCO has the option open to them."

"True enough. Pug, where is this..?"

"One last question, sir. Do we not note that a committed, stable relationship is the most favorable state for a person? That being in such a state would be considered ideal, almost required?"

"I do… Suppose that would be the thrust of the words. But why would you ask that?"

"Because, my glorious, wise, honorable Colonel, I believe that marriage would fit that definition perfectly. A legal, binding relationship that allows for no fraternization outside of the holy bond, and which gives one the opportunity to grow and advance as a person within a relationship in a healthy and moral form. And as the senior NCO, I think that Sergeant Tibbs would be the ideal person to enter this state. He could serve as a glowing, personal example of this, someone the cadets can look up to."

Both the Colonel and Tibbs sat there, stunned. The flow of twisted weasel wording and pure bull was almost staggering in its amount and its bald-faced opportunism. It was also entirely solid and well-considered. "Ahem. Hmph. Yes. Very… Well-researched, Lieutenant." The Colonel broke the silence, and stood tall, looming imposingly before Pug. "But… I don't think the idea has quite the merit you believe it does."

"How do you mean, sir? It seems like the perfect symbol of morality and interpersonal health."

"Well for one thing, just who would the Sergeant marry? That's a very important consideration. One does not simply leap, willy-nilly into the sacred bond of matrimony."

"Diva!" Tibbs called out suddenly, looking up at the Colonel. "I could marry Diva. Just ask her, she'll tell you that she's crazy about me. She'll be glad to marry me and provide the stable relationship you're looking for." Tibbs knew well that Diva was everyone's girlfriend. For free. Unlike Jewel, who could cost a fortune if she thought it would be worth it. Diva was a good sport, a friendly face, and enjoyed the fey Sergeant. The perfect beard.

"Not her. I'm certain you are unaware of this, sir, but she's a little… Free with her affection. She's hardly the ideal role model for future married couples. Besides, that ignores a very important fact."

"And what fact is that, Lieutenant?"

"That the sergeant here is a caaAAaat. And Diva isn't. We wouldn't want to encourage any cross-species relations. I mean, as a model, he'd have to embody a traditional relationship. Same species, so that it looks proper."

"You are on dangerous ground, Lieutenant. Speak very carefully."

"I stand by my statement. But don't worry, sir. The solution is obvious, and has already presented itself."

- - -

"You want me to what?!" Later that day, in the office space behind the Game Lounge building, a small attached utility shed with a desk, chairs, potted plants and a heavy gattling gun behind the desk. Ertha, Gabriel and Tibbs were within, Gabriel working on his daily take at the desk, while Ertha and Tibbs conversed before the desk.

"I want you to… Marry me." Tibbs appeared terribly uncomfortable, constantly looking around, and then down at the ground, while tried to keep himself from shaking.

"It's a very… Strange offer. I'm already engaged. We've told his parents. We have a caterer who can make stargazey pie on speed dial. I'm meeting with the Rabbi's westie regularly. I'm going to convert to his faith and become Mrs. Gabriel Rosenstein. There's not much ambiguity in that. Besides, I thought you loved the Colonel. We've double-dated."

"I know this is strange, and terribly improper. It's crazy, it's mad, it's wrong. But I NEED you to marry me."

"Why?"

"It's Pug." The name hissed from Tibbs' lips, Gabriel and Ertha both spitting after the mention of his name. "He pasted together a collection of rules that, when read in the manner he put them in indicates that it would be best for unit cohesion and to fulfill our mission to be a positive moral force if I got married. He's prepared to make a big deal out of it. Normally, he's just a pest. But if he really wanted to, really tried, he could create chaos in the ranks, destabilize everything, destroy the brigade from the inside out. And he knows it. So I can either get married, or leave the Brigade for good."

"So why not marry Diva? She'd make a great beard. She's already everybody's girlfriend. She wouldn't mind becoming everyone's adulterous tryst." Gabriel spoke up from the desk, head kept down, casually scribbling figures in his ledger.

"I tried that. Pug says it has to be another cat, so it looks right. And there's only one other cat on the farm. That's you, Ertha. So… Please, you HAVE to help me. If I don't do this, I either leave the unit or become responsible for its destruction."

"You're just lucky I'm female. What would you have done if I were a male?"

Gabriel piped up again, still looking at his figures. "Am I female in this hypothetical? If not, we'd have to go to a different Temple."

"That's not the point. It's true, but not the point."

"Will you?"

"Give me some time to think about it. Meanwhile, just tell folks I accepted. Maybe I can fake my own death."

"No need, dear. I'll take care of it."

"Please, Gabriel. Don't kill him with some elaborate scheme or direct explosion. He'd still get his wish that way. Just… I have to do this."

"And why should you do this, just to please that little monster?" Gabriel finally looked up, directly at Tibbs.

"Because the Brigade is the Colonel's life. It's everything to him. If it were to fall apart, I think he would too."

"As you wish. I'll get everyone set here for a wedding. I assume you'll want it soon."

"Within a week, at most."

"I'll make it a week. See if a solution can be found in that time."

"Thank you. That's all I really can ask for."

- - -

"It's not fair, Colonel, not fair at all." The Colonel's rail car, later that night. Gabriel had come down to give his latest service bid, and strayed from business matters as soon as the opportunity had presented itself.

"Not fair in the slightest, I agree. But, dash it all, there is nothing I can do." The Colonel slammed his paw down on the floor of the car. "My paws are absolutely tied by the rules. Rules I created in the interest of toleration. It's a rather bad spot, finding myself having to eat my words."

"We so often find ourselves fighting our own words. The higher we climb, the more and more often we must confront the idea that our speech has power to hurt us in new and unexpected ways. I want you to know, I offered Tibbs every type of service I offer and a few I never would have considered before. But he refused."

"Rightfully. He's a good man, Tibbs. Honest, forthright, loyal, dedicated, and an excellent masseuse. He would never try to get out of this, through questionable means. No offense to you, but I believe your solution would involve injury to Pug in some way."

"None, taken, Colonel. Because you're right. The little monster deserves every bit of whatever he gets."

"Granted, to say the least. But even so, he is a member of the Brigade. An officer if not a gentleman. He could make things very thorny in the ranks if he so decided or was removed forcibly somehow."

"He wins, then, simply by sitting there, smug and self-satisfied. Mocking us with his mere presence."

"He hasn't won yet. There is still a week until this final curtain falls. We're both smart and guileful. Surely the two of us could come up with something."

"I'll do all I can. Everything, anything. This is an important matter. It sets a dangerous precedent, potentially. And even if it doesn't… I don't want to be in a harem."

At long last, a chuckle broke the Colonel's stony, serious state. "I wish to avoid the same fate, you know. Let us consider, and plan."

- - -

"Good day, Colonel, Sir…" Days later, with no solution in sight, yet. The Colonel had been resting in his railcar, despondent and lacking in vigor, when a familiar voice moved him form his torpor. "May I… Come in, sir?"

"Mmm. Of course, Tibbs, of course. I would hardly think you believed in the need to ask. You belong here, after all. Been a bit derelict in your duties of late, eh?" The Colonel pasted on a half-hearted smile, as he slowly rose.

Tibbs slowly walked into the car, his slim hips moving from side to side in an easy, hypnotic motion, his natural gait; poetry with red fur. "I've been laying low, keeping mostly out of sight, to avoid any appearance of questionable activity or impropriety."

"How would coming here to do your duties give an impression like that?"

"HE'D find a way to make it so…" Both men grumbled lightly at the reference to the hated lieutenant. "And I must do my best to preserve the honor and integrity of your position. To leave you unstained, no matter what may happen."

"That is quite a burden to lay, sergeant. I do not wish you to bear it. Please, come here as you are assigned, as you must. Let them say what they will. It doesn't matter to me."

"But it matters to me, sir. To have your proud reputation tarnished would be hideous. It would be unbearable to know, indisputably, that it was my doing. I could never hurt you sir…" Tibbs stood before the Colonel, one paw gently stroking the big dog's face, and sweeping the fur from one eye. "I would rather die than hurt you."

The revealed eye shone with tears held back by a campaigner's resolve, a long-practiced stoicism on the brink of breaking. "I'm not that important, sergeant. Tibbs. I'm not worth the trouble, the pain. Not worth a false marriage for the sake of someone's ambitions and malice."

"Colonel, please…" Tibbs let the fur fall back into place, turning his head away from the canine's face. He hated to see his strong lover on the verge of breaking down. "I love you, truly. But don't tell me what is or is not worth my trouble. I alone decide what is worth it. And you are…" He stepped forward, pressing himself against the barrel chest, thick with warm fur. "So very, very, very worth every bit of hassle, aggravation and pain. I regret nothing."

"But this marriage. It would be the end for us. I'll resign my commission, raise Captain in rank. I can retire to a life of doddering, puttering and flower-tending. You can continue your career as you will. With me gone Pug should cease his obsessive drive to see you wed. That should fix things."

"I won't let you do it, sir. You can't. This is your life. This is your love. The Brigade means so much, I couldn't let you."

"I only want to spare you, Tibbs. Spare you the agony of all of this. Leave your life happy and pure and sweet, as you deserve." One huge paw wrapped around the fey feline, pressing him solidly into the thick chest.

"As I deserve…" Tibbs echoed, barely a whisper.

- - -

"Alright, we need a minister now. We've held if off long enough. I know it locks it in as official, but there's nothing more that can be done to delay." In Gabriel's back office, there was chaos. Piles of papers sat in sundry locations, occasionally noticed but often pushed aside for more. Lists and names and information about caterers, decorators, flower arrangers and other trivialities associated with a nuptial event.

"Well, I have the lists of those dogs willing to marry a pair of cats. Cat ministers are, appropriately, hard to find. We're rather little hellions. Not exactly the right tone for a man of the cloth." Ertha smiled, wiggling her big, well-rounded hips sensually as she brought over the list.

"Oh you can raise hell, especially when we're alone. Now, what's first on the list?" Gabriel accepted the list and looked over the assortment.

"First off there's a German shepherd, not too far away. He's willing to do it and won't ask for anything in particular."

"No, no. Tibbs isn't a Lutheran. As far as I know he's Anglican, like most everyone else with a faith in the area."

"Are you absolutely certain? There's a Greyhound just a few hours away, knows the Mass in Latin and is willing to officiate."

"Put him down as a maybe, with the Irish setter. We still need to cull down the list of vicars and reverends who can be brought in on short notice."

"Are you… Are you really ok with this?" Ertha lowered her copy of the list, looking to her studious fiancée, who was carefully checking off names, crossing off some that he either knew or didn't have a good feeling about.

"I'm certain that a solution will present itself before anything happens. I have confidence in this one fact. Thusly, the impending wedding is a non-issue."

"But what if it doesn't? What if it actually comes off?"

"Impossible. This is nothing to worry about. I'll find the solution and w…"

"Gabriel!" Ertha slammed the list down on the desk, startling her lover. Her eyes poured with tears, yet she looked like she was snarling in abject fury. "You can't just dismiss this. You can't just think you'll magically find the answer and get out of this. This could happen. This could happen to us. Don't you care? Doesn't it mean anything to you?"

Once past the initial shock, Gabriel looked back down at the list. He no longer scanned it. No longer wrote on it. He just stared at it. "I can't think I won't find the solution. I can't think this wedding will happen. I can't imagine that this whole thing will conclude like Pug wants."

"Why? Why can't you face the reality?"

A slight shiver ran through the pup's body, and he raked his filed claws over the list, furrowing the paper. "Because you mean everything to me. Matter more to me than all the machines and money in the world. Because I love you so much that my heart aches if I even think you'll be away from where I can get to you for just a glimpse. And if I didn't think there would be a solution, I'd force one. I promised, swore the oath I cannot break that I would not harm Pug or do anything to interrupt his machinations. But I'd find a way to worm my way out of it with clever words. Or simply do it, and accept that I broke it. Some things are more important than any oath, to anyone." Gabriel looked up to Ertha, teeth bared at the injustice he knew was transpiring. "You are more important. You are worth the disdain of the Lord."

Both stood there, still and silent. Ertha weeping and contemplating her lover. Gabriel watching the floor, his mind racing. Almost as one, they crossed the tiny distance between themselves, and grabbed on tight. They held more securely than they ever had before. Anchoring themselves to each other. They feared that the moment they let go the indifferent and unfeeling tide of fate would rend them asunder.

But they had to let go. Had to face the reality, while hoping for a more gentle and generous solution. Ertha wiped her eyes, cleared her throat, and checked the list again. "We could get a Unitarian."

"Only if we want to appear as a humorous anecdote in a book later on. Let's keep looking…"

- - -

"I don't like unexpected visitors. Strike that. I don't like visitors. No, forget that. I don't like anyone." Two days before the wedding, still with no solution in sight. Gabriel stood inside a spacious tool shed, littered with half-completed death-bringer objects and other mad inventions. The one who had spoken was TicTac, or simply Tac. Like Gabriel, a genius. Unlike him, a mad one, with almost no sense of hospitality or gregariousness. And yet, just seconds after speaking that statement, Dipstick, the dull-witted dog of the farm, chased a small rubber ball into the shed, and caught it, chewing on it while rolling around in a manner most adorable.

"You were saying?" Gabe gave a mighty grin and winked a trifle at Tac.

"Oh shut up. What do you want today? I'm not going to sell you anything. While you may have things I need, I'm not giving over my inventions. You have enough of your own. If you need a new ass-ramming device then you just make one yourself."

"No, thank you. Yours looks quite content playing with that ball."

"Alright, you just try saying that again, you ass! I'll gut you like a fish!"

"I'd love to see you try, rear-ender."

"Wait a moment…" Tac cut off his own clenched paw, dropping his snarl for a puzzled expression. "You never usually get into the playful insults until you've fully gauged my mood. And usually they're… Playful. Something is very wrong here."

"Please, forgive my foul mood. It's been a very stressful time, lately. Even you, I'd imagine, know what's going on. And why I am so… Well, like this."

"Like me, you mean." Tac smiled, finally having the upper hand, socially. "It's not so bad on this side, you know. Come on. We accept you! One of us! One of us!"

"One of us! One of us! One of us!" Taken in by the simple chant, Dipstick trotted around repeating it over and over again.

A small smile broke over Gabriel's muzzle, finally. "Never repeat things around him." He went back to a serious expression just a moment later. "Truth? I have a favor to ask."

"Truth? I don't do favors."

"Please, this is important. More important than machines and ego and looking tough and scary."

"Alright. Tell me. I'll think about it."

"I need you… I need you to not kill, maim, wound, or traumatize Pug. In any way, shape or form."

Silence reigned for a beat. Then another. The only sounds were Dipstick repeating "one of us" in the background. Tac turned his head just slightly, looking curiously at Gabe. "Is this some form of elaborate reverse psychology or something? Why would I even bother to harm that annoying bundle of idiocy? This is your problem, and not mine."

"Allow me to paint you a picture. Pug gets his wish. Tibbs marries my fiancé and they settle down into a loveless marriage. There's a precedent in place to force morality. Toleration is in the rules but you can twist anything around with enough time. We both know Pug isn't just some radical cat-hating species-purist. He's not just interested in breaking up Rolly and Spot, or Tibbs and the Colonel based on species differences. You know he's a homophobe. You know it galls him that he's just on the cusp of discovering Tripod and Lucky, and Cadpig and TwoTone. So follow the logic. Dipstick is a member of the Brigade. What does that mean for you?"

Tac never changed expressions. He just turned back to his work, and started tinkering again. "You can go now, Gabriel."

"Promise me you won't do anything. I gave my word, and the only one besides me who could make trouble on this farm is you. Please, Tac. Please just let this get sorted out."

"I said, you can go now."

"I'll be back, sooner or later. Please don't make me dread what I must do when I come back." With those parting words, Gabriel left the shed, and traveled back towards his business.

- - -

The time came, at last. Despite the wishes, hopes and actions of so many on the farm, the week passed. A week of fear, rage, sorrow and anticipation. All culminating in an outdoor wedding. A table with a fair-sized white wedding cake, ordered online and delivered to a dummy address; Crepe and streamers wrapping around a hastily-erected trellis, and a makeshift alter formed from a box with a white tablecloth thrown over it. Behind that altar, facing the audience of farm residents, was a Cavalier King Charles Spaniel, with a white collar around his neck. The local vicar, Edward Emmerson. He looked mildly upon the audience and waited for the proceedings to begin.

All the denizens of Dearly farm were there. The puppies waiting in neat rows on either side of the aisle which Bark Brigade ushers had decided on, interspaced with chickens, Duchess and Princess the cows, Captain the horse in his finest blanket. But no sign of the Colonel. Or of Gabriel. Or Dipstick. Or, for that matter, Tic-Tac, though hardly anyone expected him to show up for such a thing anyhow.

To the side, near the rear of the aisle was a makeshift pipe organ, formed of soldered parts and powered by a coal-fired boiler. Sitting at the keyboard, or at least what served as the keyboard, was Spooky, occasionally secretary for Gabriel, often simply a listless French goth girl who was well loved for her curious black pelt and single white spot beside her eye.

She raised her paws high over her head and brought them down with a flourish, striking the keys and unleashing a hunting, almost discordant cacophony for a few notes. Then she settled into a more harmonious, more recognizable tune. The Toccata and Fugue in D minor. Apparently only warming up, she changed smoothly into something else. The Funeral March. This lasted for a time. Longer than most were comfortable with. Even the vicar pulled at his collar, and seemed terribly distressed, most especially when he actually saw Tibbs walking up the aisle to the sounds of the song. There wasn't even a trace of happiness in his face. Though washed, groomed and dressed sharply in a tuxedo jacket somehow procured for him, he still looked as though he was walking to his execution rather than his wedding.

As he reached the makeshift altar he turned slowly at the new song being played. Spooky was now playing it "straight" for the next part. The Canon in D flowed eerily from the scavenged and salvaged pipes of the organ, heralding the coming of Ertha. She was dressed all in white, earning not a few snickers and smiles from the audience, in a beautifully-fitting dress, made to hang down and give her freedom of movement on all fours. A veil hung down over her face, hiding what must probably have been a look of utter defeat and sadness.

Ertha reached the altar amid a flourish of music which came crashing down in a grand wave of noise. Though shaken by the incident with the organ, the vicar went on with his duties. Clearing his throat loudly, he pulled a Bible out from behind the altar and set it down onto the surface. "Dearly beloved. We are gathered here this day to join this tom and this queen in holy matrimony. Marriage. A most scared and powerful bond between two beings, who will spend their entire lives together. Within…"

"Stop!" A deep, booming voice called out from the back of the audience. The Colonel stood there, proud and noble-looking, despite his somewhat disheveled appearance. "This wedding will not continue. I have with me the paperwork that will allow me to resign my commission. Once that is done there will be no need…"

"Hold it!" Around from behind the main body of the Game Lounge, the outside of which the wedding was taking place, came Gabriel, dragging with him a relatively large gun, with multiple barrels on the front of it. "This is a gattling gun. With the rotating barrels I can fire all day without overheating. I'm not letting this wedding go through. Colonel, don't resign anything. This is…"

"Don't do anything." Tic-Tac came up from behind the Game Lounge slowly, walking on three paws, with his third cradling a large, black device, covered in wires. "This wedding is through. I want everyone out of the area, and you, Reverend, get out. We're finished here. Now, just…"

"Hi! Hi! Hi!" Dipstick hopped out from behind the Game Lounge, a silly smile plastered onto his adorably dim face. He skipped placidly into the crowd and settled down amid the other wedding guests.

"Dipstick! I told you to stay in the shed and play with your squeaky ball!" Tac yelled in frustration at Dipstick, carefully cradling his apparent explosive device.

"But it rolled under the table and I couldn't get it. And there's cake here. I like cake!"

"Bit of a stalemate, eh chaps? I don't think you're going to blow that thing with him there, are you? Don't know what you were thinking with your gun there, Gabriel. But, I'm not surprised you were here." The Colonel smirked lightly, looking at the other dogs with their weaponry.

"I ran out of time to come up with something flashier and more… Rational. I mean, they can't all be winners. It's a little beneath me, I'll freely admit. But, well, it probably would have worked." Gabriel looked a bit sheepish, leaning on the big gun casually.

There was a long moment of silence. All eyes were focused onto the three at the rear of the aisle. Which is why it was such a surprise to hear a voice from the altar. "To answer the question you were going to ask in a minute, I don't." Sergeant Tibbs smiled at Ertha and winked. "No offense. But you're not my type."

"Glad you did it before I had to. I know you like them big and beefy and male. I'm partial to the skinny intellectual type myself. Think we ought to go check the meat market in the back?"

"Why not? They came down here for us." With that, Tibbs and Ertha both started back down the aisle, amid a stunned silence.

Reaching the end, Ertha silenced all of Gabriel's possible comments with a sudden, deep, all-consuming kiss. Tibbs simply pressed himself up against the Colonel, burring deeply and loudly. "But… But Sergeant… What are you doing?"

Tibbs looked up into the Colonel's eyes, a smile playing across his features. "It was something you said earlier in the week. You wanted me to have the life I deserve. The life I deserve is the one I make for myself. I wanted you to see that I'm not just some delicate flower you need to protect. You don't need to sacrifice anything to keep me in the state I deserve. However I am, that is what I choose. Even here. Even now. I was worried about destroying the Brigade. But I never considered that, with a farce of a marriage and your own sorrow, it wouldn't be worth saving. Let Pug rant and rave and leave if he wants. I'll hold it together no matter the hardship. I made this choice, I'll take the consequences. All of them."

Pug, who had been cowering in fear from the show of force, leaped up from his position and pointed at Tibbs. "Alright, cat. You had your chance. You coulda played nice but no. You had to be a tough guy. Well, we'll see how the brigade runs with you demonstrating a lack of discipline, failing to provide a moral role model."

All the Brigadiers in attendance turned to look at Pug, scowling in contempt at him. They didn't say a word. They didn't have to. They just got up from where they sat and filtered out to the various parts of the farmyard. Only Dipstick remained, and he soon enough hopped over to Tac. "Can you get my ball back?"

The stone-faced pup nodded solemnly and slowly walked away, tailed by his energetic lover. "Try not to lose it this time. It's very hard trying to keep you in toys when I need to work on my death bringer objects."

Ertha finally let Gabriel out of the kiss, after sensing that he was about ready to pass out from lack of oxygen. "You know love… After all this hassle, hardship and heartache, I just have one question."

"Gabriel worked his jaw a few times, shaking his head to clear the cobwebs and bring his eyes into focus. "Wha-What's that, dear?" He asked, breathlessly.

"Who gets the cake?"

The End


End file.
